McCullough - Frostgrave: Ghost Archipelago: Tales of the Lost Isles

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This electronic edition published in 2017 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

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First published in Great Britain in 2017

2017 Osprey Publishing Ltd

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ISBN: 978-1-4728-2468-4 (PB)
ISBN: 978-1-4728-2470-7 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-1-4728-2469-1 (ePDF)
ISBN: 978-1-4728-2471-4 (XML)

Cover and interior artwork by Dmitry and Kate Burmak

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

by Matthew Ward

by David A. McIntee

by Ben Counter

by Jonathan Green

by Mark A. Latham

by Gav Thorpe

by M. Harold Page

by Peter McLean

by Howard Andrew Jones

by Joseph A. McCullough

FOREWORD

The Ghost Archipelago has returned. A vast island chain, covered in the ruins of ancient and otherworldly civilizations, the Archipelago appears every few centuries, far out in the Southern Ocean. At such times, pirates, adventurers, wizards, and legendary heroes all descend upon the islands in the hopes of finding lost treasures and powerful artefacts. A few, drawn by the blood of their ancestors, search for the fabled Crystal Pool, whose waters grant abilities far beyond those of normal men. It is only the bravest, however, who venture into the islands, for they are filled with numerous deadly threats. Cannibal tribes, sorcerous serpent-men, and poisonous water-beasts all inhabit the island ruins, guarding their treasure hordes and setting traps for the unwary.

INHERITANCE

BY

MATTHEW WARD

The banshee wail of the wind rises and falls in time with the Moonrunners bucking deck. Lightning splits the sky. The storms enjoying itself, revelling in every gale-tossed barrage of icy rain. The storm, and no one else. I cant see the rest of the crew through the deluge, but Ill wager theyre every bit as drenched as I. Hells, I cant even see the gunwale. Its only feet away, but in this mess it might as well be at the bottom of the ocean. Likely to end up there, if the deluge keeps on. Still, if I cant see my crewmates, they cant see me. All to the good, long as Im not swept overboard.

No sooner has that thought formed when the storm punishes me for harbouring even that small hope. The ships plunging bow crashes into a rising wave. I feel the dull crack as a tremor in the decking more than I hear it. Water rushes across the deck, then recedes as the bow angles sharply upwards. My cold fingers lose their grip on the rail, boots skid on the slicked deck and then Im falling backwards, flailing for long-lost balance.

My shoulder cracks painfully into the cabin door. The suddenness of it drives the breath from my body. Could be worse. Six inches to the left, and Id have split my head open on the cabin lanterns iron stanchion. A foot or so further on, and Id have been down the companionway to the lower deck without benefit of the ladder. Good way to fetch a broken neck, that. Embarrassing way to go, if naught else. Couldnt meet my old das eye if I met him in Davys Tavern.

The Moonrunner crests the wave and plunges into the trough beyond. I cling to the stanchion as the deck reverses pitch, and prepare a dash back to my post at the ratlines. Valdims cabin is off-limits to all but himself. I darent be caught here. Not now. Itd ruin everything.

So naturally, thats when the storm ebbs.

The wind drops. Thunderheads part, revealing a watery grey sky through thinning rain. Theres the suggestion of land off to starboard. Not much. Just a dark, uneven smear that speaks to a cliff face, and maybe jungle beyond. Vaandens Isle? Maybe. Long overdue, if it is, but thats the way of things in the Ghost Archipelago. Nothings quite where it should be. Its taken Valdim two decades to find this place, far as I know.

Still aint fair weather, or anything like, but its a marked improvement. The Moonrunner shudders, and finally settles on something approaching an even keel. I glimpse a half-dozen bedraggled crewmates clinging to rigging and gunwales, all of em with the rapturous expressions of men and women certain theyve been preserved through the intervention of a higher power.

Only Quezan seems unmoved. The wiry old devils a pace or two back from the bowsprit exactly where he stood when the storm arose with no support save for that gnarled sprig-staff of his. Hes as sodden as the rest of us, but otherwise has the manner of a man embracing the warmest of sunshine. I cant see his craggy face, but I bet hes smiling. Hes an odd one, even for a Warden. Reckons hes got life all figured out, and maybe he has. Or maybe he just doesnt care.

Time to move. Before eyes turn in my direction. I release the stanchion, and edge out across the deck. Softly now. Nothing draws the eye quicker than furtive footfalls. The heavy hand that falls on my shoulder tells me Im too late.

What ave we here?

A hard shove spins me around. Its Theo. Of course it is. His dark eyes brim with resentment for rejected advances.

Prying round the Captains cabin, Bonnie? You know better than that.

His lips twist into a self-satisfied leer. Hes enjoying this. Maybe I shouldnt have kneed him in the nethers that time. More likely I shouldve kicked his head off while he was down. Knew hed hold a grudge.

I force myself to stillness. Panic wont help. Clobbering Theos a simple enough proposition, but it wont stop there. But maybe theres a chance I can brush this off.

Dont be daft. Storm flung me here, didnt it?

Theo grabs my shoulder. Pulls me close. You think the Captainll believe that?

I...

A deep voice cuts me off. The Captain will believe what?

Some of the colour fades from Theos sunburnt skin. My stomach lurches in a way that has nothing to do with the Moonrunners slackening corkscrew-motions. No way this ends well, not now weve drawn Valdims attention.

Sorry, da. Looks like Ive failed you. Shouldve stayed home.

I shake the apology away; channel my mounting fears into a two-handed shove that gets Theo out of my face. Then I turn, calmly as I can manage, to address Valdim. Hes seeing things. Bashed his head in the storm, I reckon.